All That Is Found
by Randiriel the Scribe
Summary: Unforeseen, Iluvatar has decided that he still has plans involving one of the most unlikely, wretched, and scorned of all elves. The Shire and the hobbits within must also play a part, willing or unwilling. A strange and miraculous friendship that must take shape and grow between two incredibly different people will shake Arda itself, and shift the fates of all.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: When I first published this chapter, I was in a rush and didn't have the time to write an author's note. But now I do! Mwahahahaha- ahem. **

**I thought a brief introduction for this fic might by necessary, so here it is. **

**Basically, it is preferable for you to have read (or skimmed) either _The Children of Hurin_ or _The_ _Silmarillion_.It's not strictly necessary, but it would help your understanding a lot.**

**Reviews are always welcome! Criticism can be appreciated as well, as long as it's not the mindless-tearing-down type. We've all seen them: "Hey, this is awful! You should delete this whole fic and then go hide in shame the rest of your pitiful life."**

**I will work on updating this story as timely as possible, BUT I have a real life and it might get in the way every now and then. So, I can't make any promises. **

**The main characters featured in this story ARE NOT ORIGINAL CHARACTERS! They were actually invented by Tolkien, not me. If you don't remember them, it's because they just aren't the most popular of characters, which is one of the reasons I chose them.**

**If an OC does show up later on, I'll mention it, but I'm hoping to avoid that altogether.**

**Enough said! I hope you enjoy the story.**

All That Is Found

Chapter One

Part One of Chapter One: A Song On The Wind

It was a cool autumn night. With nightfall had come a soft hush over the peaceful countryside of the Shire. Not even the wind stirred. The sky was as sharp and clear as a looking-glass; the moon and every star in the sky could be seen shining brightly down from above. Everything was eerily silent and still that night. To the observing hobbits, nature itself seemed to wait breathlessly. For what, they could not say.

The Shire was not alone in its mysterious anticipation. The quiet watchfulness spread to reach and affect even as far as Rivendell. The elves, better attuned to the supernatural, said amongst themselves, "Something great will happen this night."

Back in the Shire, Hugo Bracegirdle was little affected by the uncanny stillness. He was a sturdy, plain, and completely ordinary hobbit. He paid no attention whatsoever to superstition, and was completely ignorant of the magical and spiritual things of the world. Even if he had any ability to detect magic's presence, the odds are he would have still missed it that night. The reason being, he was slightly drunk, and completely exhausted. He had enjoyed a long day of hard work, followed by a late evening at the rowdy Green Dragon.

By some odd chance, Hugo decided to return to his home in Woodhall by a longer way. The tranquility of the cool night appealed to him, and he desired solitude after being surrounded by so many loud chattering hobbits all day. His chosen path wound slowly through the woods and uninhabited areas of the Shire, and would eventually take Hugo back to his home in a very roundabout way. He had no fear of these places even at night, for they were still well within the safe borders of the Shire, and nothing dangerous or peculiar ever happened in the Shire.

He carried a lantern, and wore a thick, brown woolen cloak that he wrapped around his shoulders. It proved fortunate that he chose that day to wear his longest, thickest cloak, as you will soon see. As the hobbit trudged along through the woods, he was relaxed by the calm and quiet.

"_Ah,"_ he thought to himself, _"This is what I needed! A breath of fresh air and escape from that stifling, crowded inn!"_

But as he went on, despite the Shire's reputation, something peculiar did happen. Hugo fell into a sort of daze, becoming so absorbed in his thoughts that he failed to realize where he was going, or that he had turned off the path and was wandering through the woods aimlessly. Later, he would never even be able to recall what he had been pondering so deeply. His feet seemed to know where they were going, or else were guided by some unseen force, and carried him more-or-less towards the small river that ran past Woodhall and flowed into the Brandywine.

When the river was almost in sight, Hugo stopped short. He shuddered, and came out of his stupor. Looking bewilderedly about him, he felt for the first time in his life the cold, creeping feeling of fear. To Hugo, the shadows had suddenly grown menacing, the night untrustworthy, and the trees mysterious. He didn't know what had just happened to him, but he knew it wasn't natural, whatever it was.

The wind abruptly picked up, and the trees swayed. The flame in his in lantern went out. The startled hobbit yelped with fright, and almost dropped it.

"_It shouldn't have blown out…"_ he realized.

But Hugo would not allow himself to panic needlessly, and managed to tame his fear, at least for the moment. Determined to remain sensible to the last, Hugo took several deep, calming breaths and deliberately fished around in his pockets for matches. Just as he had found one, and was about to light his lantern again, he suddenly halted in terror.

Out of nowhere, a voice could be heard; a deep, soft voice singing on the wind… The song was haunting, low, and sad. There were words- beautiful, sorrowful words of an ancient language long-forgotten in Middle-earth. Looking wildly about him, Hugo searched for the singer, but could find none. The song resonated through the woods, growing steadily louder, stronger, and clearer. Though he could not understand the lyrics, the hobbit could feel his very soul touched by the pure grief of the song.

Then as suddenly as it had begun, the voice ceased. All was silent. Barely daring to move, the hobbit glanced up at the stars and saw a shining blue light streak across the sky. Staring blankly at it, at first he thought it was a shooting star. But no, it was falling. With a jolt, the hobbit snapped out of his previous shock and gawked up at the sky. The _star _was _falling_! Hugo ducked and took cover behind the nearest tree, just as the blue light flew close overhead.

"_It's going to land in the river!"_ he thought in amazement.

He was right. It did land in the river, but as soon as it hit the water, there was an explosion of blinding blue light. The light dissipated immediately afterwards, and the woods were plunged into darkness once more. At first Hugo didn't venture to move, but all was still and silent, so at last he fumbled around for his matchbox. After locating that, he then searched around blindly for his lantern, which he had dropped in his haste to hide himself from the mysterious light. Finally he found his lantern and managed to light it. Looking about him, Hugo was faced with the dilemma of what to do next. Should he go investigate? Or should he run home as fast as his legs could carry him? His first, hobbitish instinct was to do the second, but burning curiosity would not let him simply leave.

"_I'll just go take a quick look,"_ he decided, _"From a safe distance."_

So, that fateful decision made, Hugo Bracegirdle held his lantern aloft and cautiously made his way towards the river.

Part Two of Chapter One: Turning Fates

As Hugo slowly approached the riverbank he raised his lantern high. A ray of light fell across a strange, pale figure lying prone on the very edge of the riverbank, half-in the frigid water. With a jolt, the nervous hobbit realized it was not a thing but a person. As Hugo moved carefully closer, the lantern better illuminated the features of the stranger. This person was most certainly male, as Hugo could see immediately, for the body was stripped bare of any clothes. He saw right away that this was no hobbit, or even a dwarf. Taking note of the long dark hair and elegantly pointed ears, Hugo recognized that this was no man either. He beheld in awe none other than one of the Firstborn- an elf.

The body was as pale and still as death. Forgetting his fear, Hugo rushed forward without a second thought to kneel by the elf's side. If not dead, this person was obviously in desperate need of help, and the kind-hearted hobbit would not hesitate to give what aid he could. Seizing the elf's cold hand, Hugo quickly searched for a pulse. To his relief, he soon found one- slow, faint, but there. Grabbing the elf, Hugo dragged him the rest of the way out of the water and onto the riverbank as gently as he could. The elf's entire body was covered in bruises and scratches, but seeing that there were no serious or life-threatening injuries as far as he could tell, Hugo unfastened his cloak and swiftly draped it over the elf.

Now what should he do? Hugo paused with indecision.

_ "I could not possibly carry this elf by myself as far as four paces, much less all the way home,"_ he thought. _"But perhaps if I revive him some…"_

Working as quickly as he could, the hobbit gathered enough dry, dead wood to kindle a warm fire. After dragging the elf as close to the fire as was safe, Hugo wrapped him snugly in the cloak, feeling extremely grateful for its thickness and length. Not knowing what else to do and rather at a loss, Hugo could only sit back and wait, feeling woefully inexperienced and uneducated in matters of medical emergencies. Many long anxious moments passed.

At last, the hobbit thought he could perceive the elf stirring slightly under the blanket. He gazed eagerly at the stranger, only to be disappointed when the elf did not open his eyes and soon went still once more. With a sigh Hugo turned around to put more wood on the fire. When he turned back around, he froze with startled excitement. The elf's piercing grey eyes were wide open, staring at him.

Neither moved nor spoke for a moment, but then Hugo managed a genuine smile.

"Why, hello! Glad to see you're awake! You were in quite a fix, over there," he said awkwardly, nodding towards the riverbank. "I would've taken you to proper shelter, but I'm afraid I can't carry you. I'm just a small hobbit, and you're more than just a tad bigger than me."

After slowly sitting up, the elf blinked bewilderedly, and then looked around in apparent confusion. Eventually the elf's wandering gaze landed back on the hobbit. Since the stranger still didn't speak, Hugo plowed on, praying that the elf could understand him.

"Well, my name's Hugo Bracegirdle. Would you give me the honor of telling me yours?" Hugo said as casually and politely as he could.

At last the elf spoke: "I am Saeros."

The words were said slowly, deliberately. The hobbit could not be sure, but it seemed almost like the words themselves amazed the elf.

"Pleasure to meet you, Saeros!" Hugo exclaimed. "Though, I do wonder- never mind," he said, abruptly deciding mid-sentence that it would probably be best to leave the questioning for later.

"What… language… are we speaking?" Saeros inquired falteringly.

"Westron, of course," the hobbit answered in surprise.

The elf's brow furrowed as he looked down in thought.

"But… how is this possible? I have never learned a second language, or spoken anything besides Doriathrin. And yet… I understand you perfectly, and I can speak your language."

"If what you say is true, then I cannot explain it. But then, I cannot explain your strange arrival either," Hugo said seriously.

"How did you find me?" Saeros asked, looking up again.

"Well…" Hugo said, hardly knowing where to begin. And so he gave a short account of how he came to find the elf, naked and senseless by the river.

Saeros didn't interrupt once, and sat in silence for a moment after Hugo had finished.

"As pleasant as it is out here, I for one would like a roof over my head tonight. Would you care to stay at my place?" Hugo finally asked with a meaningful look.

Saeros did not hesitate long before nodding his consent. It wasn't like he had any other good options at the moment, and even the cloak and fire were not enough to block out all the cold.

Hugo stood and dashed out the fire. He offered to assist the elf, but his offer was ignored as Saeros made an attempt to stand on his own. Pride and determination did not prove sufficient strength, and after two failed tries Hugo intervened.

Hauling the elf to his feet, Hugo practically ordered Saeros to use him as support. Saeros made as if to protest, but then reluctantly submitted and allowed himself to be assisted. As they slowly and laboriously made their way through the woods, Hugo decided that perhaps it would be best if he didn't announce immediately to the whole world Saeros' arrival. So he took them along a back way, keeping to the shadows and as far from the sight of others as he could.

When at last they collapsed exhausted near the doorway of Hugo's private home, the hobbit was absurdly glad that his hobbit-house was surrounded by shielding dark trees, and was out of sight of any other home. This rare place of privacy in the Shire was the one thing that had charmed him into first buying the house four years ago, and now it helped serve the purpose of secrecy.

Entering into the simple home, Hugo led Saeros straight to the nearest guest-bedroom, where he laid the elf down and promptly shut the blinds to the wide windows. After lighting another lamp, Hugo turned to his guest.

"Well," he said, "make yourself at home! I guess you'll need some clothes… but I don't have any that'll fit you."

"I will make do with blankets for tonight," Saeros said.

"Alright; I'll go see if I can find anything for you to wear at the market first thing in the morning."

Saeros was already wrapping himself in the blankets, and making himself comfortable in the comically too-small bed. Hugo was just about to leave the room when Saeros suddenly sat up and asked, "Where are we exactly?"

"We are in the Shire," Hugo answered, "In the town of Woodhall."

From the blank stare he received, it was obvious that these names meant nothing to Saeros. Remembering the flying blue light, the hobbit figured this elf could be from just about anywhere, so he decided to add, "The Shire lies east of the Blue Mountains and west of the Misty Mountains, within the realm of Eriador."

Overwhelmed, Saeros slumped and bowed his head. "My home is very far away then," he said softly. After a moment of silence, the elf turned his gaze intently back to his rescuer.

"What did you say you are? A… a hobbit?"

"That's right." Hugo confirmed.

Saeros frowned in deep thought. "I do not remember hearing of such a people. Whom do you serve?"

"…I'm not sure I understand," Hugo said hesitantly.

"Are you a servant of Morgoth? Is this some dark magic meant to deceive me?" Saeros demanded, growing irrationally angry in his fear.

Now it was Hugo's turn to get angry. For all that he'd done for the elf, he had yet to receive so much as a thank-you! And this-!

"Curse it! Of course I'm not a servant of Morgoth! You have just insulted me, my honor, and all my hospitality!" he almost shouted in his outrage.

Stunned by the hobbit's sudden outburst, Saeros only stared wide-eyed at Hugo, but didn't apologize. Hugo glared at the elf a moment longer, then finally turned away and stormed over to the door. Just as he had exited the room and was about to shut the door behind him, he heard Saeros say quietly, "I apologize."

Stopping, Hugo looked back into the room. Saeros was looking everywhere but at the door.

"Thank you, for all you've done. I am…" here the elf hesitated, and frowned before continuing. "I am in your debt," he said all in a rush, and then abruptly lay down in the bed with his back turned to the door.

Smiling, the hobbit replied immediately, "Apology accepted." Without another word he left the elf in peace, for the night.

Part Three of Chapter One: An Undeserved Hope

Humiliation. Shame. Terror. Though he had seldom felt these things before, now he was no stranger to them. He ran. Exposed. Defeated. Fleeing. The human was obviously mad; how far would Turin go? The horrible thought that the man might have even worse yet in store for him spurred the elf on all the faster. Stripped of his clothes and relentlessly pursued by Turin with his sharp sword, Saeros had never been brought lower.

It was mostly his own fault. Even Saeros could not deny that as he fled before his enemy and defeater. His proud and foolish taunting, his haughty words, and his disdainful behavior- they had all built up to this. Saeros had gone too far, and the man had snapped. Play with fire, and you will be burned.

Saeros struggled to keep his mind clear of blind panic as he fled through the woods. Once, Turin almost got him; the sword swung but barely missed. An undignified and shrill scream escaped Saeros' throat as he dodged the blade and forced his weakening, exhausted legs to carry him still further and faster. Oh, the shame. If he lived, he would never escape it.

In his fear, he hadn't noticed the thickening of the undergrowth until his bare legs and arms were being whipped by the branches. He stumbled and fell. Turin was almost upon him in an instant, but sudden terror lends swiftness to even the most exhausted, and gathering his legs underneath himself, Saeros sprang up, out of the reach of Turin's sword, and took off at a sprint once more.

But even fear cannot keep one running endlessly, for weariness and despair will gradually take their toll. They only become heavier burdens as the long moments wear on; eventually they will weigh down and slow the feet of even the best and most enduring of runners.

Saeros was neither of these, and so he tired all the sooner. Despite having managed to put some initial distance between himself and Turin, the man was quickly gaining. Turin seemed still weariless, despite being but a mortal man. Would he ever let off his relentless pursuit? Just as he was despairing, and all seemed at last hopeless, Saeros lifted up his gaze and saw ahead a ravine, at the bottom of which he knew a swift stream ran.

It was too wide for any man to jump, but perhaps for a highly motivated elf…

Even as Saeros was still unsure about the risk of attempting to jump the ravine, he heard the voice of Mablung shouting from somewhere in the trees nearby. He did not catch the other elf's words, but he heard clearly Turin's answer from behind him.

"Orc-work there was; this is only orc-play!"

Rage and shame swelled within him as Saeros realized there must be onlookers about, watching his humiliation as no doubt Turin had intended.

Turin came at Saeros again, wielding his sword menacingly. Thinking Turin intended to slay him there and then, Saeros' decision was made. In a last desperate attempt for escape, he turned and ran towards the ravine.

Summoning the last of his waning strength, Saeros gathered what speed he could.

He was upon the ledge. Thinking not twice, nor of its consequences, Saeros leapt.

He fell, hands outstretched, grasping for the opposite ledge but finding only air. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he reflected with irony that the leap had proved too daunting for even an elf after all.

The fall was a short one. He would have died instantly; his neck would have snapped, and his body been dashed against the stones. But that was not to be his fate. Iluvatar was not yet done with him. For The One had designs beyond the knowledge of even the Valar, and this unlikely wretch had still a part to play. It is true that Iluvatar had plans in store for this elf, but he also had mercy. For with his intervention in the fate of Saeros, he was granting mercy- a Second Chance. The opportunity of redemption.

As Saeros slipped from consciousness, he dimly perceived being surrounded by an indescribable light and warmth. He was swept away.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I wasn't going to do an annoying disclaimer, but I've noticed that people with disclaimers _get more reviews_. No kidding. So, you people have forced my hand...**

**EVIL DISCLAIMER OF DOOM: Surprise! I do not own _The Lord of the Rings_! What a shock, huh? I know I fooled you there for a second, but its true! I bet you _never_ saw that coming!**

**More seriously though, this chapter was kept deliberately short and sweet, and I'll tell you why. I need to know if readers would prefer briefer, but more-frequently updated chapters, or longer and less-frequently updated chapters. Please tell me so I can adjust accordingly.**

**Anyhow, enjoy the story!**

Chapter Two

Woken by a polite knock on the door, Saeros blinked and sat up straight, and immediately wondered why he was lying cramped in a tiny, plain bed. An instant later he wondered why he was in an unfamiliar, miniature room, and then there was a brief moment of panic until his memory caught up with him. Recalling the previous events of the night, Saeros took a deep and calming breath. The knock came again, followed by Hugo's voice.

"Hello? Saeros? Good-morning… or early afternoon actually. May I come in?"

Finding his voice, Saeros answered, "Yes, yes of course!"

The door opened and Hugo stepped into the quaint bedroom. He was burdened with a bulging sack which he quickly deposited by the foot of Saeros' bed.

"I left early this morning in search of any clothes that might fit you," Hugo said quickly. "It took some doing, but I was able to buy some extra clothes from the Big Folk staying at the Green Dragon Inn. It's strangely fortunate for you that they happened to be passing through the Shire. It's a very rare thing these days. They were unsavory characters for sure, but they were willing to sell just about anything and keep quiet about it if well-paid enough. Don't worry, I haven't told a soul about you yet, because I figured you don't want to be swarmed by inquiring strangers immediately. Especially on some queer, important business, as I've no doubt you are. Oh, I do hope the clothes will fit."

There the hobbit's chatter ceased and he looked up at his guest anxiously.

Saeros had been listening to all of this with as sort of stunned look, and Hugo had finally noticed the elf's rather overwhelmed expression. After an awkward moment Saeros remembered his manners, and bowed his head slightly in a gesture of thankful acceptance.

"Your gracious effort is appreciated," Saeros replied, managing to sound impressively regal in the somewhat embarrassing situation.

"Oh! Pardon me, I have forgotten!" Hugo suddenly exclaimed. "I supposed you're hungry- you haven't had anything to eat yet! Allow me to fix up a meal while you get dressed."

"That would be wonderful, thank-you," Saeros said in response.

Hugo immediately left the room and shut the door behind him. Saeros slumped with relief as soon the hobbit had left. Oh, this was humiliating. To fall into the debt of a strange, short, mortal creature was bad enough, but to have lost any semblance of dignity in the process was almost too much to stand. Still, he certainly did not hate Hugo Bracegirdle like he did some other mortals he knew of. It would be hard to, since the hobbit had been nothing but kind and generous, and had gone through great lengths to help him. No, Saeros held nothing but gratitude for Hugo, even though he despised the humiliation of these past events.

Moving slowly, Saeros got out of the bed and stood. After bumping his head on the low ceiling, he stooped down and picked up the sack Hugo had brought. In it he found a bundle of rough, torn clothes that could only have been made by mortal men, and poor men at that. The clothes were worn and not the cleanest; however, they had not yet reached the point of being repulsive. Saeros eyed them with distaste for long time, but ultimately decided that filthy clothes were less shameful than none and with a resigned sigh reluctantly put them on. They were all a tad too large, but it hardly mattered. There was a shirt and trousers, along with a patched and stained cloak that must once have been a darker color. Now it was a faded grey. There was a big pair of heavy leather boots that must have been of good quality, once-upon-a-time. There were also undergarments, but no socks or belt. Nevertheless, Saeros was beginning to consider himself lucky for what he had.

Wearing his new apparel, Saeros slowly opened the bedroom door and peered out into the house. Doubtless the hobbit-style home all looked very strange to him as he first ventured out into its halls. Not sure where to turn, Saeros simply went left in the general direction he thought the hobbit might have gone. After traversing the long hallway he came suddenly to an open, spacious sitting room. Though not extravagant with luxuries, it was practical and homely. The warm fire in the hearth, the comfortable-looking couch, and the wide, brightly woven rug all added to the inviting effect. It seemed generally very nice, but Saeros was not interested in this room as of yet, because his host was not in it. So the elf continued his search for Hugo.

The smaller room next door seemed to be the dining room, judging from wooden table and tiny chairs. Hugo was not here either, so Saeros passed through that room and went to a door he saw on the other side. No sooner had he cautiously opened it and peeked in when he saw that without a doubt this was the kitchen. Hugo was bustling about almost frantically, busy preparing some meal from the looks of it. After a long moment in which Saeros remained unnoticed by the doorway, at last the elf shifted uneasily in place. He spoke hesitantly, "May I be of assistance?"

Startled, the hobbit whirled around and gawked at Saeros for a moment.

"Well- um…" Hugo hesitated. "I'm almost done, actually. Why don't you go take a seat in the dining room, and I'll join you shortly."

Not knowing what else to say or do, Saeros bowed once and went back into the dining room. Walking over to the table, he stared down at the very _tiny_ chairs surrounding it. Finally he determined that there was no way he was sitting in one of those, so he pulled a chair out and sat cross-legged on the floor in its place. The table turned out to be just the right height for this, to his relief.

Left to his thoughts, they turned inevitably to home, in Beleriand. No doubt if he were to miraculously return, he would receive astonishment, but very little welcome. He knew few had ever liked him in Doriath, and probably now they hated him. Even if he was not arrested and immediately executed or imprisoned, life would never be the same. He'd been alone before; now he would be openly shunned. His kindred would have lost all respect for him that they might once have held. It was not undeserved, perhaps, but could he stand it? Would he consent to live in continuous shame like that? No, not if he could avoid it.

He did not know who had saved him from death and brought him here, nor why, but he intended to find out. And what was more, as long as he had a choice he would never go back. Doriath and all of its evil events were far behind him now.

Having reached this conclusion, Saeros looked up in time to see Hugo enter, carrying a tray laden with strange-looking food. Setting down it down in front of Saeros, Hugo took the seat opposite of him.

"Well, I hope you enjoy!" the hobbit said breathlessly, even as he dished out two generous portions, the first for himself and the second for Saeros.

"I'm sure I will, thank-you," Saeros said politely, glancing at the food. But before tasting any of it, he asked, "Why are you doing all of this? How could I ever repay you?"

"Oh, you're not expected too," Hugo said in surprise. "I'm only showing basic hospitality. You obviously needed help badly, and I was capable of giving it, so I did."

"Still," Saeros insisted, "I am very grateful to you."

"And you're very welcome," Hugo replied happily, and took a big bite out of his meal.

After sampling the food before him, Saeros decided these "hobbits" had very good taste, and voted them his favorite mortals by far. You know, as far as mortals go.


End file.
